


Revolving Doors

by stuck_as_sarah



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Drug Use, Drunk Dean, First Kiss, Fluff, High Dean, High Sam, M/M, Music, Pining, Requited Love, Shotgunning, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use, Underage Kissing, Underage Smoking, Unrequited Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Young Sam Winchester, for now, mentions of John Winchester - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-26 04:04:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3836347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stuck_as_sarah/pseuds/stuck_as_sarah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Titled after this song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H58x-4xFnTY</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Titled after this song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H58x-4xFnTY

Sam didn't mean to at first. The very first time was just an accident. He could never forget how it went. He was just 14, young and frustrated at their constant close quarters. Sam remembers this place well. It was a hot day in that small apartment. Sam thinks of when he'd caught Dean leaning in doorways scratching at the wallpaper, peeling small pieces off before shaking himself out of his daze. Sam could almost see the calmed distracted expression wipe away at what's probably Dad's voice telling him to cut it out. Even with the small space they were lucky to get two rooms pushed into the corners of the place. Dad had told them he'd shelled out for a decent place and to be grateful before going about his routine goodbyes, I'll be gone two weeks, three tops, watch out for Sammy. The modest amount of furniture they had were had best stained or torn. Even though Sam thought about a life with friends, someone coming over to spend the night, and that he'd be embarrassed by the smallest of tears where when alone he'd scratch at them and smile a little thinking about the lives this chairs lived.  


In Sam's room, which was really both his and Dean's, there resided a small twin bed with sturdy dark carved wood leading to a headboard with intricate patterns despite it's ware and tear. Sam liked running his fingers along the notches absently while listening to whatever CD they'd picked up in the gas station bins he enjoy digging through even though the he'd get splitters from the used wood and sucked them out of his finger, like Dean had taught him, like he'd used to do for Sam. Sam liked calling it his room even though Dean would sleep there with him unless Dean had the nerve to take Dad's bed. Dad told them to stay out of his room unless it's absolutely necessary. He'd glared at Dean silently telling him no girls and then looking over to Sam telling him to hold his curiosity and keep out of his research. Sam had peaked in anyway, trained to leave no signs. There were papers and printed out images places all over the walls. He couldn't imagine Dean bringing a girl in there. Sam wouldn't admit the spark he'd felt at the thought.  


Dean didn't bring a lot of girls back, but recently he'd had the unpleasant experience of opening the door after an afternoon at the library to find Dean with some girl underneath him. Every time this happened Dean would clear his throat and angle a sly smile towards him and say, “Sorry, Sammy.” Sam would pass by blushing, holding up a hand till he got to the safety of his room, letting out a breathe. Sam would wonder what Dean would do if they were switched. He liked the thought of Dean going red all over because of walking in on him, seeing him with some girl under him. This night Dean was gone when Sam got back from the library. Sam relished the air conditioning there along with the infinite stacks of books. He'd never got up to getting a library card in case he checked a book out and couldn't return it before they left hurriedly. He didn't like the thought of stealing an important book someone else could learn from. Whenever Dean complained about the heat Sam always said he could just come to the library with him, going on about how pleasant it was there. Dean just says something along the lines of ruining his rep there.  


Dean came back that night to Sam's surprise without a girl, but nonetheless unbelievably wasted. Sam had seen Dean drink beers, sneaking a few from Dad's small stash in the fridge while he was away or flirting his way to a six pack, but he rarely saw Dean plastered. He knew Dean was never a bad drunk, it was hard to even imagine him being one, but it wasn't often Dean had a fake ID work. Sam wasn't sure when Dean was going to get back. He'd called twice, but tried to not assume the worst when Dean never replied. Sam feigned attention on his textbook for Biology, writing notes occasionally, but with what they do, mainly Dad and Dean to his frustration, it was too easy to come up with all sorts of indefinite situations Dean could be in. So he stood in a huff and walked to the small nook of a kitchen they had deciding to be in blissful denial and go on cooking something for them both with the cheap scraps they did have. When Dean gets back he'll have to talk about going grocery shopping he thought.  


Sam ended up with a large pot of cooked ramen noodles complete with their salty flavorings and to Sam's pleasure some of the frozen chicken breast he'd insisted they get, cut up and thrown together. Sam first heard Dean when the doorknob shook and there was the sound of a key in the lock. Sam had hoped it was Dean, but every instinct told him to move. When the door opened fully and Dean peered through Sam was holding their nearest shotgun, loaded with shells of rock salt, unfazed. Sam stepped swiftly around the door pointing the barrel towards the intruder, instantly lowering the gun when he sees Dean, releasing the breathe he was holding. Still Dean held his hands up saying, “Whoa, whoa, Sammy. Hey, don't go shootin' me now,” his late reaction filled with a drunken slur. Sam couldn't pull back the icy glare he shot Dean. “Well I could've. 'S what you get. Where even were you?” Dean laughed a little too long, catching his foot on the rug by the door they use to hide the demon trap and falling to his knees, palms holding himself up. Sam's demeanor shifted at Dean's tumble, face twisting in sympathy at the hard thud. He leaned the gun against the couch and made one long stride towards Dean, bending to drag an arm around Dean's waist ignoring the grateful hum Dean gave.  


“Why'd you even drink so much Dean?” Sam asked, regretting it once it left his mouth. Whatever the reason was Sam wasn't sure he really wanted to know. “'Cause I can. Why? You gonna tell on me?” Dean teased, smirking though Sam knew it was just a face. “No, Dean. Just, I wish you'd tell me what's going on. You're just like Dad sometimes,” Sam replied without thought. Sam winced at his own words. Whatever Dean is going through that's definitely not what he needs. Dean's glare almost goes vicious for a second. Sam has a shot of fear go through him. He knows Dean, knows he'd never really hurt him, but he can't stop the vulnerability he shows when he thinks darkly, what if, just what if Dean did do something, he could never fight back, could never think of seriously hurting Dean. He knows the stories of demons, shifter, all sorts of nightmare conjuring creatures, that force would be necessary when in danger, but he still couldn't, he can't imagine ever doing what he would know had to be done. He realizes he'd rather die. Sam's hands go weak around Dean, his arms shaky.  


Dean's face softens as quick as it had first changed. Sam knows Dean couldn't know what he was thinking, there's just no way he could know, but Sam shudders a bit when Dean reaches for his pale cheek, drunkenly missing before landing with a small slap. Sam revels the warmth, but Dean winces slightly at the noise, looking almost fearful. Dean swallows and Sam follows the movement of his throat, watching his lips. Sam looks up to see Dean, eyes wet, as he cracks out, “I'd never leave you, Sam.” Sam lets out a shaky breathe. He knows Dean doesn't know what he was thinking, he's just saying what feels right in the moment. Sam lets himself think just maybe he means it, maybe despite Dean not really being in his head Dean still knew what he thought he should say and what was the right thing to say. Somehow it does feel like the right thing, what Sam wanted to hear.  


Sam rarely gets to see Dean like this. They could be watching Saving Private Ryan and Dean would just stay stoic and tear free while Sam slyly wiped back tears, getting laughs out of Dean when he caught him and Sam would reply calling him a robot which of course then brings Dean to say, “Well maybe I am,” proceeding with a cheesy robotic arm swing. Sam really should've expected that. Dean's eyes are starting to droop and Sam steels himself to gets a hold of Dean's side and bring them to their feet, keeping silent despite what was just said, not quite uncomfortable, just calm silence. Once Sam maneuvers Dean into one of their plastic outdoor chairs, which make up their dining room set along with a wobbly stained table, Sam moves to the counter, bracing his hands on it to gather himself. He can feel Dean staring at his back and he sighs before turning, a small smile on his face. “I made us some dinner. It's nothing special. You need to eat.” Sam walks to a cabinet, feeling Dean's gaze following him. “And you need to drink some water. Don't argue, just do it. You'll thank me when you feel slightly less like shit in the morning.”  


“Sam,” Dean started. Sam expects to be scolded. Dean playing mom, telling him to watch his language. Sam turns to look at Dean, already rolling his eyes, and stands with the glass of water he filled. “You're too good to me Sam,” Dean says, not jokingly like Sam would expect, but almost sweet. Sam stutters, unable to find the right response. Dean stands before Sam can find his voice, grabbing the glass from Sam and chugging away. Sam feels frozen where he is, just slightly too close to Dean, watching his throat work with each gulp of water. Dean finishes and leans toward Sam. He steps back and hits the edge of the counter and grips onto it tight. He feels every part of him heat up when Dean leans further. Dean watches Sam as he moves, steadier on his feet now, bringing to glass behind Sam into the sink. Sam sighs at the clink of the glass against metal, his shoulders falling. Dean moves from the sink, watching Sam as he steps back. There's the slightest graze of two of Dean's finger brushing Sam's wrist, unconsciously or not Sam's not sure, but something sparks at the touch and Sam tenses up again. “You okay Sammy?” Dean asks, inches away, but not quite touching. It feels like Dean's touching him with every release of breath, the whiskey tinged air fluttering against Sam's cheek.  


Sam's thoughts halt. He doesn't even register telling himself to move. Dean's as still as Sam thinks he's ever seen him. His shoulders are so broad, Sam recalls. As soon as the thought came he brings a hand up to Dean's collar bone, thumb pressing into Dean's neck. Sam can feel when Dean swallows, can feels the small putter of Dean's heart under his palm, faint, but there, right under his hand. Sam doesn't know how long he stares at his own hand on Dean's chest, but Dean lets him and he isn't sure why. Maybe he'll just let me do anything, Sam thinks. Sam's looking up through his bangs at Dean. Sam judges his face, just watching. He isn't thinking any farther than what if. When Dean raises his hand, Sam's sure it's to push him back, peel Sam's palm off his chest. Sam doesn't know why, but that moment he wants more than ever to keep his hand there. He shuts his eyes tight, puts pressure on his palm, feels the warmth underneath. All Sam feels is that heat under his hand then fingertips tickle his cheek, hesitant before surely a hand is flat on his cheek, fingers grazing his hair. Sam opens his eyes to watch Dean, read him, but Dean is just curiously staring at his own hand, watching his own fingers move against Sam's neck. Dean stands with Sam, scratching lightly at Sam's neck.  


Sam doesn't hear himself whimper, but he sees Dean's eyes jerk over to him. Sam's stomach flips and he almost forces himself to his hand back, but Dean's eyes flicker back to his hand. Dean moves again, experimentally pushing his fingers into Sam's hair. Dean's palm is holding Sam's neck and Sam leans onto it, looking up right at Dean, keenly aware of how close they really are, the sight they must make. He looks like my boyfriend, Sam thinks and heats at the thought. Dean's fingers scrape through his hair, testing the waters and Sam can hardly keep himself up. He's blushing hard and all Sam remembers is thinking he's going to make fun of me, he's going to-  
And then Sam's kissing him. Even now he doesn't know why, but Dean doesn't push him away then either. Sam's eyes hard shut so hard he's not sure he'll ever be able to open them again. If I could stay here then I don't want to, he thinks. It's almost overwhelming how easily the thoughts come to him now, as if they just weren't surfaced yet. His hand is grasping the fabric of Dean's shirt, wrinkled in his fist. Sam keeps still, afraid to even move, just holding Dean. Please help Dean, Sam thinks. Dean exhales through his nose, the air hitting Sam's cheek. Sam feels like he's been thawed and pulls his lips back giving a little sob, his mouth open and a feather light touch against Dean's. Dean makes a desperate noise and presses his lips to Sam's, their lips interlocked. Dean's lip is right there, Sam thinks, I could just...  


Sam's tongue runs along Dean's lip. Dean moves his lips against Sam's, closing them just to open and take back Sam's lip to claim as his own. Sam doesn't realize his knees start to wobble when Dean take a small testing bite of Sam's lip till Dean's lips get farther from him and Dean's strong arm envelopes him pulling him up. Sam's dazed when his eyes open and it feels like Dean's hand on his neck controls him. Dean's looking at his lips and Sam feels woozy, almost high with the possibility of Dean kissing him again. Dean gets handful of Sam's hair and Sam's eyes shut. He waits, just waits for the small touch of Dean's lips again. A hands runs along his neck. Fingertips are at his cheek, just brushing it before it's gone. The hand around his waist inches away. Sam begs silently, his eyes still shut. _No_ , he thinks, _kiss me again, please, don't go, just kiss me one more time_. When he opens his eyes again Dean's not there. Maybe it wasn't just an accident.


	2. I Love The Night

Sam laid in bed wearing his usual nightwear of boxers and his favorite gray hoodie. He let his hand idly run through the light hair low on his stomach, legs spread on his small mattress. Dean had kissed him. No matter how much he relived the reality of what happened without any doubt Dean had kissed him back. He could still feel a slight tingle to his lips when he thought about it, could still hear the slam of the door replay in his ears. Sam wished he'd still had his old CD player that he forgot at the last motel they'd left from in a hurry. Dean was gathering everything so quickly, fear obvious in his eyes, “Sammy just grab your clothes, c'mon, hurry.” He felt selfish with just the time he'd spent looking for it and his few CD's, probably keeping Dean in danger the longer he took. They never had those moments after staying at a hotel and everyone stands by the door asking, “Do we have everything, double check,” sighing with a last look at the end of their vacation. This is their life.  


Sam didn't usually like Dean's music, just tolerated it. If Dean saw him even touching his CD's he'd kill him, but Dean left and he doesn't even knows when he'll come back. Sam knew which one of Dean's he liked best, which ones he could just hear Dean singing. He slid off the bed and to his knees, reaching under the bed to get Dean's box of stuff he'd like to pretend is hidden. Dean kept the player on top of his porn mags, CD's lined up to the side. He had a pack of cigarettes stuffed in and a smaller box Sam knew had marijuana and papers in. Sam always had this box to hold over Dean whenever they fought. He never used the ammunition, but Dean knew he had it.  


Sam let his finger run over the few CD's Dean had, stopping on one and pulling it out. He replaced the CD in the player carefully putting it away and laying back in bed with it. Sam knew Dean liked listening to Don't Fear the Reaper, but Sam didn't think it was his favorite on the CD. Sam always laughed when Dean mimicked the constant cow bell and when he'd air guitar to the point where Sam would reach for the wheel. Sam would never admit it to Dean, he'd probably call him a sap, but he went straight to it when the CD started. He remembered it was number 7. He turned over and went back to playing with the short hairs on his stomach, sighing and feeling the goosebumps rise on his arms as the song began. “ _That night her kiss told me it was over_.” Sam felt a familiar ache with the thrum of guitar and tried to soothe himself, resting his hand on his forearm and running his thumb against the bumps rising on his skin. “ _The misty bloom seemed to soak up my sorrow_.”  


Sam wanted to leave the room, go out into the chilly air and maybe steal the pack from Dean's box. He never had the nerve to before, always so sure Dean would come back and catch him. Maybe he could this time. He knows Dean's probably at a bar, found a girl. He'll just leave a note, it'll be fine. It never felt fair Dean could do and he had to wait up here for him to stumble into bed. The song ended and Sam glanced at the player. He took the full bar of battery life as a sign and stood to slip his sweats on, pocketing the small knife Dean gave him last year on his birthday. He hated the weight of it now, pulling it out to run a finger over the hand done engraving of _S.W._ Dean had put on the side. He tossed it on the bed and brought Dean's box in front of him as he sat cross legged over the sheets. Pushing the CD's aside he pulled out the pack of cigarettes, inspecting and finding only four inside. Sam didn't have an ID to use to replace the pack. He sighed and lifted the porn mags, looking at the familiar trashy covers leaning his head on a palm.  


The little box inside though, Sam never looked at. He just knew from school what was in it, smelt it on Dean sometimes. Sam never thought about smoking pot or why Dean did, but he knows the smell and he doesn't mind it. Sometimes he liked the smell on Dean mixed with the light cologne. He ran a finger around the box, almost testing the waters, imagining the second he makes a grab for it Dean slamming his way in. He lifted it, nothing bad so far. The second he opened the box the smell wafted strong at him. Sam instantly became concerned for the smell of the room. He closed the box a moment and glanced side to side in the empty room, feeling dumb the second he did. He knew kids in school who smoked all the time. They'd even plan to smoke after school or skip certain classes to. It shouldn't feel like such a big deal, right? Dean does this all the time. Sam gave a loud exhale and brought the box close, lifting the lid and taking a long sniff. Maybe it wasn't so bad, he thinks he could get used to the odd tang of it.  


Sam had fumbled with the papers longer than he'd like to admit. He could imagine a time Dean might have shared this with him and been here laughing his way through it. The bag Dean had of it was large enough he might be able to take some unnoticed, but knowing Dean couldn't tell Dad made it much easier to reach in and place a small bit in the paper. Sam snorted at the thought, what would Dean say, “ _Dad! Sam stole some of my drugs without asking_.” Sam had to hold his hands steady and wait for his chuckles to subside. Sam generally knew what to do, but when he actually rolled it he failed miserably. Grabbing a new paper he sighed and planned out how to hold it and roll it up this time, not making the neatest joint ever, but it'll do. Sam took a little more for the second one, almost proud of himself at the improvement of quality. He ever so gently placed them on the bed next to the knife, pressing them lightly to it as if says _stay_. Sam went for his backpack, not bothering to take his books out and opened a pocket for the CD's he chose to bring, swiping Dean's lighter before getting up.  


He ended up taking the pack of cigarettes, just a safe carrier for his joints, placing it in his pocket with the knife. Once Dean's box was stashed away, not quite untouched, he stowed his key and left with the click of the lock behind him. Sam wasn't dumb, he knew without doubt the salt lines were untampered, the lights off, and he definitely locked the door, a small note on the table reading _went for a walk_. He doubts Dean will be home before him, but it was safest nonetheless, this way he might not get a punch for making him worry even though he wouldn't admit it. The CD player rested more sideways than he wished in the large hoodies front pocket. He kept the volume low enough that he could still be somewhat aware of his surrounds and for the start of the walk he kept his hand on the small blade till he felt like he was truly alone despite the occasional car. Sam couldn't say where he was headed, but he was aware of a park by the library and he's walked to the library before. He wasn't even sure he'd walk that far, but at least he had some direction.  


Sam paused and pulled out the pack, resting the end of one of the joint on his lips, the paper wetting and only a short bit there to grab onto with the lack of a filter at the end. He brought the lighter up and carefully lit the end, pulling it from his lips to blow at the small flame that started, leaving a small ember burning away. Sam wondered how Dean did it, what he looked like sitting out in the dark smoking. _Probably less clumsy than me_ , he thought. A new song played as he started the CD and he kept the constant movement of just walking straight and not giving any regard for which song it was that started. He remembers this one though. He knows Dean skips it when they listen to it and he's sure Dean listens to it alone. His instinct was to skip to the song he knew from this CD, but he let it play, imagining Dean sneaking this player to bed and hearing this song before drifting to sleep. Sam raised his hand and took a long drag, sputtering after only a few seconds attempting to hold in the burning smoke this time. “ _Swept her up and off my wave length, swallowed her up_ ,” the man sang. The light buzz amplified the flicker of guitar in the background. Sam understood why Dean liked the band and why this song was harder to listen to. “ _Death comes driving, I can't do nothing_ ,” he continued. “ _There must be something, there must be something that remains_.”  


“ _A fire of unknown origin took my baby away_.” Sam sighed and went for another drag of smoke, his lungs adjusting to the burn. He changed the song. Sam knew his Dad listened to this too, knew what it reminded him and Dean of. He had to change it. Sam drifted on a few songs in between the one he knew he really wanted to listen to and finally felt his mood shift once it started. “ _Long ago and far away I heard your voice_.” Sam let his head bob and tapped the fingers in his pocket, brushing against the knife. “ _Once I heard you sing your song I had no choice_.” He almost felt like motioning a little, strumming an invisible guitar with the joint in his hand. Sam sighed, a giddiness to him he was nowhere near earlier. He might just understand why Dean would sneak this after rough hunts or after Dad left. He didn't go for this walk just to think of Dean, but of course it's all he's thinking of. Sam ran his nail across the engraving on the knife. He wasn't supposed to be thinking of Dean.“ _We only need each other_.”  


Sam enjoyed the bass and harmony of Don't Turn Your Back, but paranoia slipped in and he glanced over his shoulders a few times, worrying his music was too loud. He sat in the grass to the side of him, digging into his bag. Sam thinks he might have walked a little under a mile from the apartment. Sam switched CD's, ready to listen to the song that got him out here, and decided to stay in the grass, pulling a spare shirt from his backpack and pillowing his head on it. The joint started to reach it's end and Sam took one last pull from it and stubbed it out into the grass, only letting himself feel guilty a moment for leaving it there. It was so dark Sam couldn't see around him, just the light beam of a street light in the distance. He looked at the stars and felt his eyes go lax, a hand dropping to scratch his belly lightly. He felt fuzzy and wished, with each chill racking through his body, that he was laying under his sheets. Sam rolled over and felt the pricks of grass before they mushed down to mold his form. He let himself admit he missed Dean and he wanted to kiss him again. Sam resigned to the hope he won't always want to kiss him, that this will subside easily. He wasn't sure how much he wanted that though. Dean would always be a constant and just the idea of Dean lying in the grass with him now, an arm slung over his waist, would be all he really needed.  


Sam only let himself debate for a moment about smoking the other joint, but he wanted another night like this and he would save it for when he needed this most. Sam lifted himself and picked up his pack to leave, starting the walk back. The music rang in his ears, the closer he got the more he thought of Dean. He felt the wind for a moment and stopped, letting his hair tinkle against his face, the chill of the wind brushing lightly on his face and neck. He closed his eyes and just let himself feel it, took off his headphone to listen to the _woosh_ of it around him, some distant leaves rustling.  


He made it back and took his time climbing the stairs to their door, letting out a sigh before turning the key in the lock with a click. Sam heard the slid of a chair, locked the door and crossed the salt lines, and he caught eyes with Dean. He'd had one of the dining chairs turned towards the door. Dean looked a little weak on his feet like he'd been sitting in the same spot for a while. His eyes looked worn and tired, lined with worry and now filled with relief. Dean crossed the room quick and strode so surely he might have flinched if he wasn't so out of it still. “Where the hell were you Sam?” Dean started, fingers twitching with the need to touch Sam, assess him. Sam made a small noise, almost a scoff, but too choked to really come out as one. “Where do you think I was? The note said I went on a walk.” Dean's head jerked back, eyebrows scrunching together. Sam could only think that he look a little hurt for that second before he saw Dean's eyes look down to the headphones, his expression steeling instantly. “You took my CD player,” he said, matter of fact. Sam didn't respond. “I've told you not to touch my stuff Sam.” Sam's hands fisted in his sweats, the brush of the engraved knife against his hand fueling his anger towards Dean. “So?” He saw the clench of Dean's jaw and tried to keep his face blank. By the squint of Dean's eyes his lips twitched up.  


Dean stepped closer, his mouth opening to say something before closing, his face twisting in confusion. Once Dean's nostrils flared slightly as he inhale Sam closed his eyes and tilted his head to the ceiling. _Here we go_ , Sam thought. He wanted to rub his eyes with his palms or maybe get a big glass of milk, but he had to stick this through with Dean. “Is that...” Dean stopped. Sam opened his eyes to look at Dean, watching confusion fade over to his classic mouth hanging open pissed face he's become accustom to. Sam almost laughed at the hint of surprise in the expression. “You've been smoking my pot Sam?!” Sam didn't even realize he'd rolled his eyes till Dean gave him a hard shove against the door, his hands a strong pressure against his shoulders. “You went into my stuff and took from my stash. Why...” Dean sighed and lowered his hands, dragging down Sam's arms as they left. “What's going on?” Sam looked away and shouldered past Dean heading towards their room, taking his backpack off. “What do you think Dean? We both know you're not really that dumb.”  


Sam was unzipping the pocket with the CD's walking to put back Dean's stuff when a hand caught his elbow. “Sam, that...” Dean paused, “ _kiss_ , you didn't mean, it didn't mean...” Dean fumbled with his words. It was Sam who shoved Dean now, knocking Dean's hand away and sending him stumbling towards the arm of the couch. Sam would be stunned with how hard he pushed Dean if he wasn't blazing. “What are you trying to say Dean? Huh? That it meant nothing, that it was all just an _accident_?” Sam spit venomously at Dean. Dean was shocked, stepping back till he touch the couch, holding himself up with the armrest. “Sam, no.” Dean stared at his feet, unsure if he could look at Sam. “Well what then Dean? Are you ashamed of it, of _me_? Are you ashamed how fucked up you are for kissing your _little brother_?” Sam stepped forward with each sentence he spit out, feeling invigorated and off kilter. “Sam!” Dean said, starting to scold him. Sam gave a dry laugh. “Really? I shouldn't say fuck, but it's all fine if I kiss my _brother_.” Sam was so close Dean felt Sam breathe the last words against his face. “Sam-” Dean cut off and Sam pressed his palms into Dean's collar. “No, Dean. I know you kissed me back. Look me in the eye and tell me you didn't.” Dean looked up, but kept his mouth shut. Sam could see his throat work as he swallowed. Sam watched his hand as he trailed it up slightly to cup around Dean's neck, his thumb brushing against his jaw. “Please,” Sam sighed out, giving a small pat against Dean's chest. “Just do it again. Please.”  


Silence stretched on and eventually Sam exhaled and pulled his hands back, dragging his fingers away from Dean's face. Dean's eyes shut as Sam touched his face, feeling it slowly leave he shot his hand up and snatched Sam's wrist. Dean kept his eyes shut as he placed Sam's palm flat on his cheek. Sam could hear a soft hum from Dean and felt a deep ache inside him at the vulnerable sound. Sam could hear the loud swallow from Dean in the silence, but almost didn't catch the croak of his voice, the choked whisper, “ _Kiss me_.” Dean never opened his eyes, just wet his lips once and waited for Sam. Sam licked his lips and brought his other hand to cup Dean's face, holding him still as he leaned and lightly pressed their lips together. Sam sucked in a breath through his nose at the touch. He heard a small noise come from deep in Dean's throat, squashed the second Dean had registered it. Sam pulled back after a short moment and ran his thumb at the corner of Dean's mouth. Dean let his mouth go slack, open for Sam, and Sam dragged his thumb along Dean's longer lip before going in to take hold of it, sucking a whimper from him.  


Their lips slid together for a long moment till Dean pressed hands to Sam's chest, silently telling him to pull back. “Sam, let's just, just take it slow, okay?” Sam nodded, shaking his head quickly. Dean's lip quirked as he asked, “You got a joint ready Sammy?” Sam smirked and nodded pulling out Dean's pack of cigarettes. “Let's go,” Dean said, grabbing Sam's hand and heading to the door. Sam slowed once they got outside, but Dean kept dragging Sam along till they were down the stairs and by the impala. Dean slid right up on the hood as casual as ever, but Sam hesitated. “C'mon. Get up here,” Dean patted the spot next to him and Sam made his way up, sitting to the other end of the hood. Dean just laughed and scoot next to Sam, grabbing the pack from him. He inspected the joint, commenting, “Not bad, Sammy.” Dean smirked over at Sam, “At least for your first time.” Dean placed the end between his lips and held a hand to cup around the flame and gently moved it to light the tip.  


Sam watched the end burn as Dean inhaled. He was fixated when Dean exhaled puffs of white smoke from his lips. Sam was dazed and staring at Dean's lips only snapping out of it when Dean shook the joint in his hands in front of his eyes laughing. “How stoned are you dude?” Sam smiled shyly, tilting his head down, and reached for the joint looking up when Dean pulled back. “Uh-uh.” Dean looked like he was about to _tsk_ at Sam. He lifted his hand to Sam's mouth and Sam opened up willingly, staring at Dean. Something sparked in him at the small touch of Sam's lips to his fingers. Dean pulled back the joint and leaned to Sam saying, “Hold it for me.” He sat to the side of Sam and spoke against his lips, “Let it go.” Dean felt the first brush of smoke and pressed his open mouth to Sam's, breathing in what Sam gave him. Sam made a little cry low in his throat at the touch, vibrating to Dean's lips. They fully connected and Dean exhaled what smoke was left through his nose, taking Sam's lip between his. Sam made a little squeak when Dean rested his hand high on Sam's thigh, leaning into him. He smiled into the kiss and Sam groaned with just the slightest loss of Dean's attention on his lips and lurched up to take Dean's lip between his teeth. Dean groaned and moved to cup Sam's face, caressing his cheekbone. They shared a sigh and Dean lifted himself away from Sam, giving a lazy smile at the string connecting their lips. “This things burning away over here. Let's finish this and go in, okay?” Sam gave a dazed nod and accepted the joint from Dean.  


Dean shared a few more hits with Sam, him gratefully opening for it, every one turning into deep kisses slowing till they'd finally pull apart. When it was to it's last bit Dean hopped off the hood, stomping it under his boot and leaning to Sam, hands on his knees and kissed him a last time, Sam trailing after his lips when Dean pulled away. Dean had to resist going back in to meet Sam and instead went to lock hands, making a show of helping Sam off the hood. They walked the short ways up the stairs, hands locked and swinging slightly like one of those happy couples. When Dean noticed he dramatically swung there twined fingers, blinking his lashes fast mocking a lovestruck girl and staring at Sam. Dean felt warmth bloom in his chest at the full dimpled laugh Sam gave. Dean unlocked the door and they toed off their shoes. Sam followed Dean into their room and fell onto the bed first thing. “You all tuckered out bud?” Dean laughed, giving a playful pat to Sam ass. “ _Dean_ ,” Sam groaned, muffled into the pillow. Sam turned to face Dean, watching as he dug his CD player from Sam backpack. “You were listening to this one, huh?” Dean had a fond look in his eyes. He caught Sam's and asked, “Which one do you like best?”  


Sam gave a familiar blush and shy smile answering, “I like number 7.” Sam buried his face in the pillow at Dean's smile. “Course it is.” Dean turned to the small boombox with the broken cassette player that he'd gotten from a thrift store and put in the CD skipping to number 7. “Dean?” Sam asked. Dean zipped up Sam's bag and turned to him. “What is it Sammy?” “Think you could put it on repeat?” he asked quietly. Dean nodded with a smile, adjusting the volume before laying down next to Sam. Dean gave Sam a small push and he groaned in response, lifting himself enough for Dean to pull the sheets from under them. Sam's hair fell into his face and Dean brushed it aside, running his hand down Sam's arm and hooking it around his waist. Dean started to hum and kept an arm on Sam's lower back pulling him in closer and Sam came to rest his head against Dean listening to the rumble in his chest. Dean wrapped his arms around Sam, leaving a hand to run through Sam's hair, listening to the small sighs with each skim against his scalp. He left a short kiss to Sam's forehead and sighed out a sleepy, “ _Sammy_...” It was the third time the song repeated when he fell asleep, Sam's weight on his chest and small snores coming from Sam, limbs wrapping around him already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Titled after:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ognBcHjlcJo  
> The songs Sam listened to:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GSKeo5AS5vM   
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Arc_I54oYrg


End file.
